Agent O
by Rorschach's Blot
Summary: She's a suave, flying personification of unstoppable demonic fury. But you can call her Mother Owl.
1. Agent O

Disclaimer: This is all Clell's fault, I suggest imprisonment and stoning.

Agent O

In response to the blinking light on his phone, he reached down with a gloved hand and picked up the receiver.

"Sir," the tinny voice on the other hand began. "We believe that we've located Mother Owl's private residence."

"Scorched earth," a menacing voice growled.

"Yes, sir."

IIIIIIIIII

Harry was at the train station waiting for his uncle to pick him up for another summer from hell, when the unexpected happened. Hedwig came out of nowhere and landed on his shoulder.

"Hey, girl," Harry greeted his owl. "I thought we were going to meet up back at the hell hole?"

"Preck," Hedwig said quickly. "Preck preck."

"I don't think my minders would be very happy if I did that," Harry sighed.

"Preck," Hedwig demanded.

"It's not that I have a problem with not staying with the Dursleys this summer, but don't you think Dumbledore will have something to say about it?" Harry sighed.

"Prick," she dismissed his concerns as inconsequential.

"He can be," Harry agreed. "But he's still the Headmaster."

"Preck preck."

"Terrorists?" Harry exclaimed. "How do you know that terrorists are going to attack?"

"Preck preck," Hedwig barked slowly. "Preck preck preck, preck. Preck preck."

"Official Secrets Act?" He said in surprise.

"Preck."

"No, I understand that you can't tell me."

"Preck?"

"Just going to find a pay phone," Harry explained. "Just because they're all going to be horrifically murdered isn't an excuse not to be polite."

"Preck," Hedwig conceded the point.

Harry fed a coin into the slot and dialed the number to Vernon's office. "It's me, Uncle Vernon," Harry identified himself. "Yeah, I know you told me never to call you . . . I got your number off the emergency contact list on the fridge . . . copied it down in case I ever needed it . . . just wanted to let you know that I won't need a ride . . . apparently we're all being targeted by terrorists, so I'm going into hiding . . . probably torturing Dudley to death as we speak." Harry frowned. "How rude, he hung up on me."

"Preck, preck pricks."

"I know we can't expect his sort to show any manners, it's still rude."

"Preck."

"I could go for some bacon," Harry agreed. "Let's go."

"Preck preck."

"Your treat, where'd you get money?"

"Preck."

"Wow, really?" Harry gave a low whistle.

IIIIIIIIII

The faceless minions calmly walked out of the Dursley residence only moments before it exploded.

"Sir," one of the minions whispered into his phone. "We've finished the job here, no sign of Mother Owl." He listened to his superior's instructions. "Yes, sir, we'll be there as soon as we can."

IIIIIIIIII

Harry leaned back, gave a satisfied belch, and loosened his belt two notches. "Man," he moaned. "That was the best bacon I've ever had. "How did you find this place?"

"Preck," Hedwig replied.

"Well tell them thanks for me, it was amazing."

"Preck?"

"Go ahead." He pushed his plate towards the owl. "I couldn't eat another bite."

Hedwig quickly gobbled up the left over bacon and hopped onto Harry's shoulder. "Preck."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Better not stay in one place too long."

He paid for their meal and walked out of the restaurant and in the general direction of Diagon Alley.

"There they are," a distant scream disturbed their stroll. "Get them."

"The terrorists?" Harry asked.

"Preck," Hedwig confirmed. "Preck preck," she instructed.

"But I don't know how to hot wire a car," Harry protested, shame faced.

"Preck?" Just what were they teaching in that school? "Preck, preck preck preck," she walked him through the procedure as the terrorists sprayed their position with gunfire.

"Got it," Harry said in a tone of deep satisfaction. "Now get us out of here."

"Preck," Hedwig sniffed.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I suppose it would be difficult if you couldn't reach the pedals." Not to mention the lack of thumbs but he was much too polite to point that bit out. "Alright, get in the passenger seat." Harry shifted into gear, stomped down on the accelerator, and took off the parking brake causing the car to shoot down the road towards the terrorists.

"Preck," Hedwig said calmly.

"I can't just run them down like that," Harry protested. KER-THUMP, the car jumped as it crushed two unlucky terrorists. "Or maybe I can," he said thoughtfully. "Really thought they'd jump out of the way or something." Harry made a quick bootlegger's turn and dispatched two more terrorists that were too slow to jump out of the way. "This is easy," Harry cheered.

A quick check to the rear view mirror revealed that the surviving terrorists had piled into a van and were giving chase.

"Preck," Hedwig demanded.

"I can't do that," Harry protested. "Using magic is strictly forbidden during summer vacation. And, uh . . . I might have left my wand in my trunk."

"Preck," Hedwig cursed.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Won't make that mistake again."

The car spun around a corner and Harry was delighted to see someone pushing a fruit stand across the road, a quick turn of the wheel put them on a collision course and a few seconds later the street was covered in shattered watermelon.

"Preck?"

"It's traditional," Harry explained. "Hoping to find two guys moving a gigantic pane of glass across the road next."

"Preck."

"Action movies mostly," Harry said absently. He glanced over and noticed something different about the owl. "Where'd you get that fedora?" Harry asked.

"Preck?" Hedwig replied. "Preck preck."

"Official Secrets Act again?" Harry said in surprise. "Well, it looks good on you."

"Preck."

"You're welcome."

After a quick car chase down the suspiciously traffic free streets of central London, Harry managed to evade their pursuers by jumping his car over a canal. The landing killed their suspension of course, but the car managed to hold together until the engine fell out in front of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Preck," Hedwig suggested.

"Good idea," Harry agreed. He dragged his heavy trunk up to the bar and waved to catch the bartender's attention.

"What can I do for you, Harry?" Tom asked with a smile.

"Is there any way I could persuade you to let me leave my trunk here for a while?" Harry asked hopefully. "Seems there's a group of terrorists after me this summer and I'm going to need to be able to travel light."

"No problem, Harry," Tom agreed. "Just can't keep outta trouble, eh?"

"Guess not," Harry agreed cheerfully. He pulled a couple things that out of his trunk and walked out the back to the alley.

"Preck?"

"Why would we want to go on a shopping spree?" Harry asked with a frown. "We just ditched my trunk so we would be able to travel light."

"Preck," Hedwig clarified.

"That makes more sense," Harry agreed. "Next stop, Gringotts." Ignoring the odd looks the passers by shot him, Harry continued his conversation with Hedwig until he was in the bank and it was his turn at the counter.

"Key," the goblin barked.

"Don't have a key," Harry said, "I've got a . . ."

"Next," the goblin interrupted rudely.

"Number and a code word," Harry finished.

"What is the account number," the goblin demanded.

"Four two six five seven nine one zero one one zero two five six four six six two zero zero one nine . . . uh . . ."

"Preck preck preck," Hedwig supplied.

"That's right, seven four five," Harry said quickly.

"What is the code word, sir?" The goblin asked nervously.

"It's more of a code phrase," Harry said. "Should be; the quick white owl swooped down and ate the stupid fox because owls are better then foxes. They're apex predators, don't you know. Nothing is better then an owl." Harry shot his familiar an odd look. "Are you the one that thinks of these code phrases."

"Preck?" Hedwig asked innocently.

"Yes, you."

"This way, sir," the goblin waved his obviously unbalanced customer towards a mine wagon. "Brassballs will take you to your vault."

"Thanks," Harry said cheerfully.

The goblin waited till the mine cart was out of sight before hurrying off to notify his superiors.

The shift manager took the news with the calm and dignity that was expected of one in his position, that is to say he wet himself and began crying like a little girl. Why in the hell couldn't the Potter brat have waited till after the shift change before accessing an account owned by THE AGENCY, worse why did the Potter brat have to use Mother Owl's authorization to access the vault?

"It gets worse, sir," the teller said sickly. "The Potter is an orphan."

"Summon the orphan account manager," the shift manager ordered.

"He's waiting outside, sir."

"Then send him in," the shift manager demanded.

"You called for me?" The orphan account manager asked in an oily tone.

"A matter has been brought to my attention and I need a bit of information from you," the shift manager said with as much calm as he could manage.

"What is it?"

"Have you been skimming a bit from the Potter boy's vaults?"

"Of course," the other goblin agreed. "It's standard procedure when dealing with orphans." And the whole reason there was a manager in charge of orphan accounts, wouldn't do to accidentally skim from an account where it would be noticed.

"Guards," the shift manager screamed shrilly. "Stop the former orphan account manager. Oh no, he's resisting arrest."

"Wha . . ." A fine goblin steel blade separated the former orphan account's manager's head from his body before the surprised goblin could utter a word of protest. Having a ready scapegoat was the other reason behind the creation of the orphan accounts manager's position.

IIIIIIIIII

Harry made a sizable withdrawal from Hedwig's expense account and was more then a bit surprised when a large delegation of goblins met him at the surface.

"Sir," the lead goblin said politely. "It has come to our attention that your former account manager has been embezzling funds from your account. We at Gringotts would like to assure you that every last galleon will be accounted for and returned to your account with interest."

"Gee, thanks," Harry said happily.

"Preck," Hedwig interjected.

"Yeah, Harry agreed, "might be a good idea to have the agency do an independent audit to make sure he wasn't stealing from any other accounts."

"PRECK." Hedwig ignored the panicking goblins.

"That's what I said, the agency."

"Preck preck preck, PRECK."

"Oh, got it, all capital letters."

"Preck."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Kinda strange, least they don't have a pause for dramatic effect before their name."

"Preck," Hedwig sighed.

"The next budget request, huh."

"Preck preck, preck preck preck." Hedwig paused to think for a few moments. "Preck preck, preck."

"Guess we'd better get started then," Harry said. "Come on, Hedwig, let's go."

"Preck."

The duo left the bank and Harry waved goodbye to Tom as they walked through the Cauldron on their way to normal London.

It took a few minutes of looking, but Harry soon managed to find an unlocked car with the keys in the ignition.

"Got your seatbelt on, Hedwig?" Harry asked.

"Preck," Hedwig agreed.

"Then let's get out of here," Harry said as he pulled away from the curb.

"Preck," Hedwig commented.

"Really?" Harry couldn't believe his good fortune. "Did you arrange that?"

"Preck," Hedwig replied.

"You expect me to believe that a couple cops just left their unmarked car parked with the keys in the ignition?" Harry asked skeptically.

"Preck," Hedwig sniffed.

"Not everyone can be a professional like you," Harry said quickly. "Still, you're right, it does reek of incompetence."

"Preck."

"No way we were lucky enough to get an armed unit," Harry laughed.

"Preck."

"Of course I'm going to check it anyway," Harry agreed. "So now that we've got wheels again, what should we do?"

"Preck preck, preck."

"I mean in the short term," Harry replied. "Unless you expect me to believe that we'll be able to hunt down and eliminate the leader of the terrorists before dinner."

"Preck," Hedwig conceded.

A sudden and terrible thought occurred to Harry. "You think my friends will be okay?" Harry asked.

"Preck, preck preck."

"You're right, better go see Hermione to make sure she's okay."

"Preck."

"But what about her parents?" Harry asked.

"Preck."

"Professional courtesy, huh?"

"Preck," Hedwig shuddered.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "No way anyone's gonna mess with a couple dentists." Harry's head swiveled back and fourth until finally, he found his target.

"Preck?"

"Calling ahead, it's the polite thing to do after all."

"Preck."

"I guess now's as good a time as any to check the boot," Harry agreed. He made a quick call to Hermione's house before popping the boot to have a look. "Damn. Looks like we are that lucky, Hedwig," Harry called out.

"Preck," Hedwig replied smugly.

IIIIIIIII

Hermione bound into the sitting room with a wide smile on her fact to tell her parents the good news.

"Harry's coming to visit," Hermione announced.

"One of the boys you hang around with at school?" Her mother asked.

"Yes, mum," Hermione agreed.

"The unlucky one that couldn't live without you or the one that couldn't pour piss from a boot if the instructions were printed on the heel?"

"The unlucky one, mum," Hermione explained.

"I'll set an extra place at the table then, shall I?"

"Thanks mum," Hermione said cheerfully.

Hermione waited until she saw Harry coming up the front walk to inform her parents about the one aspect of her best friend's personality that she, and everyone else in Gryffindor, found a bit unsettling.

"Uh . . . there's something I haven't told you about Harry," Hermione admitted to her parents.

"What is it, darling?" Her father asked suspiciously. If that little punk had impregnated his baby girl . . . well, let's just say the boy would never again be able to hear the words 'is it safe?' without wetting himself.

"He talks to his owl," Hermione confessed.

"Lot's of people talk to their pets, darling," her father said, blood pressure dropping.

"Not like Harry does," Hermione promised. She threw open the door and enveloped her best friend in a bone crunching hug. "How'd you get Dumbledore to agree to let you get away from the Dursleys?"

"Turns out I'm being targeted by terrorists this summer and I'll be killed if I go back," Harry replied, ignoring the question about Dumbledore. "Dursleys have probably all been tortured to death and the house burned down anyway."

"Oh." Hermione nodded, par for the course as far as Harry's life was concerned. "Did you have any trouble finding this place?"

"Nope, your directions were good," Harry said. "And, um, regarding those terrorists."

"Yes?" Hermione prompted.

"Good chance they'll be able to connect you to me, so we're here to make sure you're okay and to ask if you want to come with us this summer."

"Why don't we discuss that later?" Hermione's father interjected smoothly. "After dinner."

"Preck," Hedwig admonished.

"Sorry," Harry said contritely. "I didn't mean to be rude."

"Not at all," her mother said with a smile. "Now, why don't you have a seat at the table so the dinner I made doesn't go to waste."

What followed was one of the best dinners that Harry had ever had. Every dish was cooked to perfection. Harry had always considered himself a fairly good cook. After what he'd just experienced, he wasn't sure could even class himself as competent.

"Preck preck." Hedwig gave a satisfied belch. "Preck."

"I agree," Harry said with a grin. "One of the better meals we've had this summer, and that's saying a lot."

"I put myself through dental school as a sous chef," Hermione's mother explained with a pleased grin.

"Preck preck?"

"I suppose so," Harry agreed.

Hermione couldn't contain herself any longer. "Harry," she said sweetly. "Could I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure, Hermione. What's up?"

"In the other room," she demanded. Hermione grabbed her friend by the arm and dragged him out.

"Preck?"

"Afraid she's always been that high-strung," Hermione's mother agreed. "Gets it from her father's side."

"Preck preck?"

"We're just happy she has friends like you and Harry," Hermione's father said quickly. "Or we would have to institutionalize her."

"Preck?"

"We wouldn't want to impose on you and Harry like that," Hermione's mother said quickly.

"Preck," Hedwig assured the couple.

"Thank you then, it's a load off our minds to know that someone will be looking after her," Hermione's father breathed a sigh of relief.

"Preck preck preck."

"Of course you can take her along with you," Hermione's mother said. "But I wouldn't worry too much about those pesky terrorists."

"Preck?"

"My husband and I are both high ranking members of the British Dental Association," she said with a feral smile. "And we'll be sending some of the lads over to have a little discussion with them."

"Preck," Hedwig requested.

"I don't know that they can be more sadistic then they normally are," Hermione's father said thoughtfully.

"It's always nice to push your limits though," Hermione's mother added.

Hermione returned a few minutes later and dropped into her chair with a huff. Honestly, why couldn't Harry just listen to and follow every one of her 'recommendations?' Life would be much more pleasant and she'd have more time to focus on her other 'project.'

"Hermione," her mother said with a smile. "Your father and I have decided that you may go with Harry for the rest of the summer if you wish."

"I can, mum?" Hermione asked, a bit incredulous that they were allowing their teenaged daughter to go off alone with a teenaged boy.

"We don't see any harm in it," her father agreed. Not after Hedwig agreed to act as a chaperone anyway.

"Uh . . . we better get going, Harry," Hermione said quickly. The girl was eager to get out of there before her parents had a chance to think about what they were doing.

"Alright," Harry agreed. "Thank you for having me," he said politely as Hermione dragged him out of the house.

"Have a good summer, dear," her mother called out. "Be sure to mind Hedwig."

"So where are we going?" Hermione asked.

"I parked over here," Harry replied, leading Hermione to his new car.

"Wow." Hermione was a bit impressed, she'd expected to have to spend the summer riding busses. She opened the passenger door and was surprised when Harry stopped her from getting in.

"Sorry, but you're going to have to sit in the back," Harry said regretfully.

"What?" Hermione asked flatly.

"The front passenger seat is Hedwig's spot," Harry explained. "I need her there to give me directions."

"Honestly, I . . ." Hermione trailed off when she noticed the fedora-wearing owl in the front seat. "How did she get that seat belt on?" The confused girl murmured, allowing herself to be placed in the back of the car. "And why is there a cage separating the front and the back of the car?"

"It's an unmarked police car," Harry replied as they pulled away from Hermione's house.

"Harry, why are you driving an unmarked police car?" Hermione asked sweetly. "Come to think of it, how is it you have a license?"

"Cause I was lucky to find one with the keys in the ignition and I don't have one," Harry answered. Gunning the engine, the car roared down the street.

IIIIIIIIII

The Chief Editor of the Quibbler sighed as his top reporter flounced into his office with her usual disrespect.

"You called for me, Chief?" The reporter said with an impudent grin, propping her feet up on his desk.

"Get your feet off my desk, Lovegood," the Chief growled. "Need to know a few things about one of your sources."

"You know I never give up a source," the reporter growled back, her eyes flashing.

"You've already been publicly linked to this one," the Chief assured his reporter.

"Which one?" She asked.

"Potter."

"What about him?" She scratched her chin, more then a bit annoyed by the lack of stubble. How was she supposed to be an unshaven hard-boiled reporter if she didn't need to shave?

"What are your impressions of him?"

"Harry's nice, but he's a bit odd," Luna replied absently.

"Odd, how?"

"He pretends to have conversations with his owl to cultivate the image that he's a crazed eccentric," Luna explained.

"That way everyone underestimates him, allowing Harry to stay under the radar. Brilliant."

"He is," Luna agreed. "Why did you ask, father?"

"My sources tell me that Harry Potter is rumored to be a top agent for a mysterious agency known only as THE AGENCY," he said softly. "And that he's been spending his summer dispatching terrorists and causing havoc."

"Hmmmm, that does sound like Harry," Luna agreed. "Did he have Hermione and Ron with him?"

"The reports did mention a high-strung girl with bushy hair," her father replied.

"That would be Hermione," Luna said. "I'm surprised they haven't picked up Ron yet."

"And I'm surprised that you didn't realize this was a perfect time to use that hide we constructed to stake out the Weasley house."

IIIIIIIIII

A chill went up Hermione's spine when she noticed that the black van behind them was the same black van that had been following them for the past fifteen minutes.

"Harry," she said with as much calm as she could muster. "We're being followed."

"Yep," Harry agreed. "Probably the terrorists again. I've been leading them to an isolated section of town so we can find out one way or another."

"Why are you dong that?" Hermione demanded. "Shouldn't we go to the police?"

"Cause if we're in an isolated area then there's less chance that innocent bystanders will get hurt and normal police won't be able to do much against hardened terrorists," Harry said reasonably.

"Harry, I . . ."

A burst of gunfire from the van silenced whoever Hermione's was about to say and confirmed that the men in the van were indeed terrorists.

"Time to go to work," Harry said cheerfully. He gunned the engine for a few seconds before executing a neat bootlegger's turn. Throwing the car into reverse and ignoring the screaming girl in the backseat, Harry floored it while leaning out the side window to return fire.

"Preck," Hedwig critiqued.

"Thanks," Harry replied. He adjusted his point of aim and fired off three quick rounds. "Think I got the driver."

"Preck."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked in surprise. "We've got a chance to finish off this right now."

"Preck," Hedwig said firmly.

"If you say so," Harry agreed. Another bootlegger's turn later and Harry was speeding away from the scene of his first gunfight.

"Preck preck."

"A royale with cheese, huh?" Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I didn't know that. Did you, Hermione?"

Hermione ignored the question in favor of wrapping her arms around her legs and rocking back and fourth.

"Preck," Hedwig said professionally.

"I can't do that," Harry said with a blush.

"Preck preck."

"I can do that," Harry agreed. "Tell me when you see a liquor store."

"Preck," Hedwig admonished him.

"I know that off-license is the correct term, but all those action movies were American and they haven't steered me wrong so far," Harry retorted.

"Preck," Hedwig conceded. "Preck preck."

"Right," Harry agreed. A spin of the wheel and a bit of braking caused the car to do several figure eights before a perfect parallel park.

"This driving stuff is easy, you want to give it a try, Hermione?" Harry looked back to see his best friend laying limply in the back staring at nothing. "Must have been really tired."

"Preck," Hedwig said scornfully.

"Not everyone is up to a life of action like us, Hedwig," Harry defended his best friend. "Besides, she was always fine with magical dangers. Maybe she isn't so good in the real world."

"Preck preck preck."

"That's sick," Harry laughed. "Where did you hear that?"

"Preck."

Still laughing, Harry stepped out of the car and walked into the store to buy a bottle of something potent to help calm Hermione's nerves.

He walked out a few minutes later and came face to face with what looked like a zillion armed police officers.

"We have you surrounded," an important looking one called out. "Give up or face the full might of the London Metropolitan Police."

Off to the side, Harry could see Hermione asserting that she'd played no part in his numerous crimes and that despite those numerous crimes, Harry really was a good boy.

"Um, I think there's been a misunderstanding," Harry said loudly. Hedwig had told him it would be alright after all.

The Chief was about to reply when one of his flunkies appeared and whispered something into the man's ear.

"Right, sorry bout that," the suddenly friendly Chief said with a forced grin. "Crossed wires and all that."

"Don't worry about it," Harry said magnanimously. "Everyone makes mistakes." Hedwig swooped down and landed on his shoulder.

"Preck preck," she prompted.

"Right," Harry whispered back. "I don't have to remind you not to talk about this, do I?" He had an embarrassed look on his face. "Sorry bout that, but I had to mention it."

"Quite alright," the Chief assured him. "Spent some time in the regiment, so I know how these things can go."

"Preck."

"Don't suppose you could spare some ammunition?" Harry asked hopefully. "Had a running gunfight earlier and used up most of mine on a van full of terrorists."

"No problem." The Chief made a gesture and several officers loaded up Harry's car with several useful things, finishing it all off with an unhappy Hermione in the back seat.

"I'll just be going then," Harry said as he stepped into the car. "Thanks for all the help."

"No problem, lad," the Chief replied.

"Sir," one of the officers said softly. "Who are they?"

"Not too sure," the Chief replied. "All I know is that the boy is some sort of hot shot agent that's liquidated several of her majesty's enemies."

IIIIIIIIII

Molly stepped out of the house with a pot full of tea and a put upon expression on her face.

"Would either of you two like some tea?" She asked reluctantly. Just because her neighbors were bloody loons was no reason not to be polite.

"You can see us?" Luna asked in astonishment.

"I can see you," Molly agreed.

"Then yes, please," Luna agreed.

"How did you detect us?" Luna's father asked.

"Camouflage is supposed to blend into the background," Molly explained. "Therefore, neon pink is usually a poor color to use."

"I told you we should have used neon orange," Luna muttered.

"But I like pink," Luna's father protested.

"Mind telling me what it's about this time?" Molly asked.

"We're hunting Harry Potters," Luna explained.

"Be very very quiet," her father added.

"I'd better be sure to air out the spare bedding in case Harry drops by," Molly said thoughtfully. "Thank you for telling me."

"No problem, Molly," Luna's father said with a grin. "It's the neighborly thing to do."

IIIIIIIIII

Harry glanced into the rear view mirror to confirm that yes, Hermione was still clutching her new bottle of scotch like it was the only thing in the world that mattered to her.

"Don't you think you should go easy on that?" Harry asked.

"Don't you think you should shut up?" Hermione retorted, taking another deep pull.

"Who knew Hermione was a mean drunk," Harry said thoughtfully.

"Preck preck, preck."

"You're right, it's always the quiet ones."

"Preck preck."

"Who's there?"

"Preck."

"Steven who?"

"Preck preck preck preck preck, preck."

"Oh god that's foul," Harry responded between bouts of laughter and dry heaves.

"Ge'me nother bottle," Hermione slurred.

"I think you've had enough," Harry replied.

"Ge'me nother bottle or ah'll cu'yer bloody balls off," Hermione growled.

"Right, hang on a tick," Harry said nervously. He pulled over and rummaged around for a few seconds.

"Bloody now," Hermione demanded.

"Here you go," Harry said quickly. The bottle was snatched out of his hands and he watched in wonder as Hermione downed half of it.

"Preck," Hedwig said in wonder.

"You said it," Harry agreed.

Luckily, the amount of alcohol in Hermione's system soon over came the girl's mighty tolerance and she passed out into a drunken slumber.

"Preck," Hedwig barked.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Best call her mum."

"Preck."

"You've got a phone?" Harry asked in delight. "Where is it?"

"Preck preck preck."

"Right," he agreed. Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out Hedwig's phone.

"What's the Granger's number?"

"Preck preck preck, preck preck preck preck. Preck preck. Preck preck, preck preck."

Harry followed Hedwig's instructions and dialed the number. The phone rang three times before it was picked up.

"Hello, Mrs. Granger … yeah, it's Hermione . . . no, she's not sick or anything. It's just, we gave her some alcohol to calm her nerves and now she won't stop drinking." He cocked his head. "Yeah, mean drunk . . . I can't do that!" he exclaimed with a deep blush. "No it's not that, I'm physically incapable of doing it . . .yeah . . . okay . . . yeah . . . right." Harry sighed, the things he did for friendship.

"Preck preck?"

"She says we need to to back to Diagon Alley," Harry replied.

"Preck?"

"Book shopping," Harry said with an embarrassed smile. "Something I should have thought of."

"Preck."

"Thanks, but it's still something I should have thought of. Have been her friend since bloody first year after all."

"Preck."

"Really?"

"Preck."

"Well, that's convenient." Who knew there was a magical bookshop right around the corner?

Harry parked his car, walked into the bookstore, and took a look around.

"What can I do for you, lad?" the man behind the counter asked.

"I need a book," Harry replied, sounding a lot less suave then he'd intended.

"Well, this is a bookstore," the man pointed out helpfully. "What sort of book are you looking for?"

"Do you have anything like the book 'Hogwarts a History?' Cause it would be just swell if you did," Harry said hopefully.

"Not unless you want to buy the boxed set."

"Boxed set?"

"The publishing house released the whole 'A History' boxed set along with the new edition of 'Hogwarts: A History' and this time it's all unabridged."

"I'll take it," Harry said. "How much do I owe you?"

"Five hundred Galleons," the man replied.

Harry paid the man and carried the massive set of books back to the car and dumped them in the trunk. He then selected a book at random from the set, closed the trunk, opened the passenger door, and carefully waved it under his best friend's nose.

Hermione's nose twitched a couple times and then her eyes shot open. "Kittens: A History?" She squealed in delight. "Oh Harry, thank you."

"No problem, Hermione," Harry said grandly. He glanced into the rear view mirror and confirmed that, yep, she was completely distracted. After running down another street mime to be sure that Hermione had returned back to normal and wasn't about to start screaming any time soon, Harry drove off the sidewalk and back into traffic.

A few minutes later, Harry was sitting at a stop light watching a single solitary pedestrian make his way across the road.

"PRECK!" Hedwig said suddenly.

"You sure? Harry asked.

"Preck," Hedwig said grimly.

"Right," Harry agreed. He waited until the pedestrian was crossing in front of the car before he gunned the engine and knocked the man down.

The sudden jolt caused Hermione to look up from her book. "Did you know that the word 'kitten' is also an alternative name for the young of some rodents, such as rats, rabbits, hedgehogs, beavers, squirrels and skunks?"

"No I didn't," Harry said as he stepped out of the car to check on their victim. "He's not dead," he reported.

"Preck," Hedwig ordered.

It wasn't easy, but Harry managed to load the terrorist into the trunk (boot) of the car by himself.

"Now what?"

"Preck, preck preck."

"Right," Harry agreed. "Tell me if you see a good looking warehouse."

Under Hedwig's expert direction, it didn't take long for Harry to find and break into an abandoned warehouse. A couple minutes of quick study and he was ready to do what he had to do.

The terrorist was awoken by a bucket of cold water to the face and Harry was kind enough to allow the man a couple minutes to get over his disorientation.

"Hi," the boy said with a smile. "I'm Ha . . ."

"Preck," Hedwig said sternly.

"Right," Harry agreed. "No names. I'm someone you don't need to know the name of, and this owl is also someone you don't need to know the name of. You are someone we do need to know the name of and we're going to find out what it is."

"Preck," Hedwig commanded.

"I'm sorry," Harry said regretfully. "But Hedwig says I have to torture you now."

"Meh," the gagged terrorist mumbled confidently, sure that the kid in front of him didn't have the guts.

"Oh, sorry. Forgot to remove the gag so you could talk." Harry undid the gag. "What was that?"

"I said you don't have the guts, kid." The terrorist laughed. "And that whole crazy act of yours needs work."

Harry glanced at his owl who shrugged in reply.

"Okay. Well, first off I'm going to be using this soldering iron I found in one of the desks."

"Preck," Hedwig suggested.

"I can't just blind him," Harry protested. "I have to work up to that. You know, burn him on the cheek or something first."

"Preck," Hedwig challenged.

"I'm sure you've tortured more people then I have," Harry agreed. "But the book said that I should start out slow until I get more advanced."

"Preck," Hedwig conceded. "Preck preck, preck."

"Thank you, I'll keep that in mind."

"Preck?"

"Haven't seen her for a while, why?" Harry asked.

"Preck."

"Behind me?"

"Harry Potter," Hermione growled. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"And so, good cop arrives," the terrorist sneered.

Harry held up a book. "It's on page one oh six."

"Torture: A History," Hermione read the title. "Do you mind if I read it?" She asked hopefully, completely forgetting about the bound terrorist.

"Sure," Harry agreed. "But you might want to do it in another room, it's going to get loud in here."

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said politely. The girl took the book and happily skipped out of the room.

"Now then," Harry said, turning back to his guest. "The iron is hot and we can begin."

"Preck."

"I was just trying to set the mood," Harry said as he brought the soldering iron up to the man's face.

"Nice bluff, kid. But I told you, you don't have the arrrrggg."

"This is the point where I threaten to put it in his eye, right?"

"Preck."

"Right," Harry agreed. "Talk or I'll be forced to put this in your left eye causing the fluid inside to flash boil and your eye to explode."

"Preck?"

"Doesn't matter, I could just as easily take out his right eye."

"Preck."

"Okay," Harry agreed. "Talk or Hedwig and I will flip a coin to see which eye I blind you in."

"You. . . you really are crazy," the terrorist said in horrified wonder.

The terrified man spilled everything he knew about the operation, hoping in vain that it would be enough to buy back his life.

"I want you to know that I really appreciate what you've told us," Harry said with a happy grin. "Really makes our job easier, right Hedwig?"

"Preck," the owl agreed. "Preck preck."

"Unfortunately for you, you heard my name," Harry sighed. "Hedwig says that means we can't let you live." The boy raised his pistol and fired in one quick motion, putting a bullet right between the man's eyes. "Up for going back to that bacon place?"

"Preck," Hedwig agreed, she was always up for bacon.

AN: Leaving the credits till the last chapter and the omake till the chapter after that. Till then, start saving your loose change.


	2. Is it Safe?

Disclaimer: The scenes of unspeakable horror which are horrible in an unspeakable way start in this chapter. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Is it Safe?

Lucius awoke to the sound of someone screaming in horrific pain. That was nothing new of course as his alarm clock was an imprisoned muggle and a delayed Crucio. What was new, was that the screams were coming from his throat.

"Awake are we?" a cheerful woman in a blue mask and a pair of goggles asked. "Good, I've got just one thing I want to know."

"Wha id it?" Lucius asked, desperate to find a way to appease the she-devil and make the hurting stop.

"Is it safe?" she purred. The woman held up an odd looking wand. "I'm going to drill out your teeth one by one until you give me the answer I want."

IIIIIIIIII

Voldemort looked around his lair. There was something missing and he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was.

"Wormtail," he bellowed.

"Yes, Master?" the pathetic man simpered.

"Do you notice something different about the place?" Voldemort demanded.

"No, master," Peter groveled.

"CRUCIO." The Dark Lord held the curse for several seconds. "How about now?"

"I don't notice anything different, Master," Peter sobbed.

"CRUCIO." This way was so much easier then having to figure it out for himself. "How about now?"

"The curtains, Master?" Peter suggested hopefully.

Voldemort looked at them for a few seconds. "No, those are the same curtains we've always had. CRUCIO."

IIIIIIIIII

Hermione was so deeply engrossed in her book that she didn't notice when Harry gently put her in the car and then gently led her out of it a few minutes later.

"Did you know that torture was outlawed in England in 1640?" Hermione asked.

"No I didn't," Harry replied. "What do you want to eat?"

"Eat?" The girl looked up from her book and realized that she was in a restaurant. "What do they have?"

"They specialize in bacon dishes," Harry replied. "Well?"

"Bacon sandwich," Hermione ordered before diving back into the book.

Hermione absently reached down and grabbed the sandwich. Biting into it, her eyes widened at the explosion of flavor. "Wow," she said in shocked wonder. "That's really good bacon."

"Isn't it?" Harry agreed.

"How did you find this place?"

"Hedwig heard about it from one of her friends," Harry replied.

IIIIIIIIII

Peter's throat was raw from screaming and his muscles involuntarily twitched from being repeatedly crucioed.

"The . . . the fact that Lucius Malfoy isn't here being smarmy and taking credit for everything?" Wormtail offered cautiously.

"CRUCIO," Voldemort screamed. "You imbecile, CRUCIO, I . . . actually, I think that's it. Good work, Wormtail."

"Thank you, Master," Peter simpered.

"Crucio," Voldemort incanted calmly. "I mean, good work." He looked around. "Where is everyone? Give me your arm," he commanded. The Dark Lord dug the tip of his wand into his hapless follower's Dark Mark to summon the rest of his incompetent underlings.

"You summoned me, master?" one of the faceless underlings said respectfully.

"Where are all the important Death Eaters?" Voldemort demanded. "The ones with names."

"They've all been dragged off by agents of the British Dental Association, Master," another underling replied with a smile, showing off a perfect set of teeth.

"What in the hell did you fools do?" Voldemort squealed, a trace of fear in his voice. "How did you attract the attention of the British Dental association?"

"The parents of one of the muggleborn students at Hogwarts are both high ranking members, master," the Death Eater with a perfect smile explained.

"And Malfoy's spawn didn't inform me of this?" Voldemort hissed.

"It's worse, master," another Death Eater squealed. "She's one of Potter's friends and Malfoy's spawn has been antagonizing her for several years."

All the color drained out of the Dark Lord's face and he collapsed onto his throne. "Curses," he moaned. "The last thing I expected was the British Dental Association."

A group of men in white coats burst through the door. "Nobody expects the British Dental Association," their leader called out. "Our two primary weapons are surprise, fear, and sadism!"

"That's three," a white coated man wearing a World War One flying helmet whispered to his leader.

IIIIIIIIII

Hermione looked up from her book. "Did you know that the precursor British Dental Association formed in 1642 with the stated purpose of giving free dental care to prisoners after torture was outlawed in Britain?" she asked eagerly. "Isn't that wonderful how they transitioned from torture to free medical care in just a couple years?"

"Uh, yeah," Harry agreed with an odd look on his face. "Wonderful." He waited till he was sure his friend was immersed in her book before he turned to the struggling man he had securely duct taped to a sturdy chair. "You hear that?" Harry buzzed the dental drill in his hand a couple times, allowing his captive to hear the sound. "I'm not going to torture you, I'm going to give you free medical care."

"All hawk," the man said loudly.

"What was that?" Harry asked, pulling out the wedge that held the man's mouth open.

"I'll talk," the man sobbed. "I'll tell you anything, just don't give me any 'free medical care'. Please."

"You hear that, Hedwig?" Harry asked with a grin.

"Preck," Hedwig scoffed. "Preck preck preck preck preck."

"I know I'm not going to learn if I never get any practice," Harry agreed. "But how can I get any practice if they break before I do anything to them?"

"Preck." In her day, terrorists were a sturdier and actually required a bit of torture before they broke and spilled everything.

IIIIIIIIII

With a sigh of disappointment that the treatment was coming to an end, the Dentist put down his probe and looked down at the shuddering woman in his chair.

"And we're done," he said melancholically.

"Already?" Bellatrix whined. "Can't we do a bit more?"

"Not in this session," the Dentist replied. "I'm afraid we're a bit swamped at the moment so I can't give you more then a quick once over."

"A quick once over?" Bella repeated dumbly, thinking back to the six hours of bliss the man had already given her. "Are you married?" she asked shyly.

"Can't find a woman that can live with my propensity for taking work home," he answered absently.

"Taking work home?" Bella shuddered again. 'Sure he was a muggle, but what a man'.

"Got a chair set up in the bedroom and everything," he agreed.

"Could you let me see my husband after you're finished with him?" Bella begged. "I have a feeling that I'm going to be a widow soon and I'd like to arrange for him to spend his last moments with me."

"Shouldn't be a problem," the Dentist said easily.

"And . . . after that, well . . . are you doing anything later today?" Bella felt like she was a second year, getting ready to torment her first firsty again.

IIIIIIIIII

So deep was she immersed in her reading experience that Hermione didn't register when the pistol fired, or the distinctive sound of a body hitting the floor and being prepared for transport and disposal.

She was not so far gone, on the other hand, that she failed to react to her best friend's request.

"Could you help me toss this suspiciously heavy rolled up carpet into the incinerator?" Harry called out.

"Just a second," Hermione said absently. "And done." A satisfied smile appeared on the girl's face as she finished another book. "What was it you wanted, Harry?"

"I wanted you to help me toss this suspiciously heavy rolled up carpet into the incinerator," Harry repeated.

"Alright," she agreed. The girl staggered under the weight of her end. "What's this all about?" She demanded.

"The sooner we get this body disposed of, the sooner you can read the next book in the series," Harry pointed out.

"That's right," Hermione squealed. "Hurry up, Harry."

"Right," Harry said happily.

"What is the next book anyway?" Hermione asked eagerly.

"You didn't look ahead?"

"I'm trying to pace myself," Hermione replied.

"Disposal of Corpses: A History."

"Sounds fascinating," Hermione sighed, opening the door to the furnace and sliding her end of the carpet in, to feed the flames. "How many books are left in the series?"

"Couple hundred at least," Harry replied.

By way of reply, Hermione moaned in orgasmic bliss. So many books to read and they were hers, all hers. "Oh, Harry, you really know what to say to a girl."

"We have been best friends since the first year," Harry pointed out.

"How do you explain Ron then?" Hermione retorted. "He'd never have thought to distract me with books."

"Ron, is a moron. I am not," Harry said reasonably.

"Point," Hermione agreed. "Now let's get to that book."

"Way ahead of you, Hermione." Harry reached into his pocked and extracted the book in question. "And here you are."

"You do know me," Hermione squealed.

IIIIIIIIII

Vernon's face was covered in as many tear tracks as his exposed torso was electrical burns. It hadn't been pleasant since the boy's phone call.

One of the terrorists backhanded the, presumably, last member of the Dursley family. "Vee vill vask vou vgagan, vere vss . . ."

"You only have to do the 'v' thing on words that begin with 'w' like we or will, understand?" one of the other terrorists whispered.

"Are you sure?" the first terrorist replied. "I don't want to screw this up, it's my first time torturing someone."

"I'm sure," the second terrorist confirmed. "Just relax, you'll do fine."

"Okay, I can do this," the first terrorist tried to psych himself up. "Vee vill ask you again, vere is Mother Owl?"

"I don't know who that is," Vernon sobbed.

"Zee hard vay then, I so love doing zings zee hard vay."

"Nice work with the 'z' sounds, you're really making it work for you."

IIIIIIIIII

Harry loaded Hermione and his other possessions into the car and pulled out into traffic.

"Why are we leaving so soon?" the girl asked, not bothering to look up from her reading material.

"It's the next book in your reading list, should be on the seat next to you."

"Gas Explosions: A History. Ohhh, sounds interesting," Hermione said eagerly.

"Informative anyway."

"Did you know that you can dissolve bodies with quick lime?"

"News to me," Harry replied. "But good to know."

"Never know when you might want to dispose of a body," Hermione agreed.

"An hour or two from now if the last chap's information was correct and everything goes to plan," Harry mumbled to himself.

"What was that?" Hermione looked up from her book. "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

"Nothing important."

"Okay."

IIIIIIIIII

Dumbledore sighed in contentment as the masseuse expertly rubbed oil into every crack and crevice in the old man's body. This was the life, his reward for standing as the light's bastion against evil, for his tenure at Hogwarts, and for his unique way of keeping young Harry safe.

"Lower," the Headmaster moaned. "Lower . . . lower . . . TOO LOW . . . lower." Dumbledore moaned in pleasure as the massage continued. "I presume the ending will be . . . happy?"

Snape shuddered. "Are you sure this is a condition of my parole? Cause I'm sure that . . ."

"Which one of us is Chief Warlock?" Dumbledore interrupted.

"You are, sir," Snape said in defeat.

"That's right, so get to rubbin . . . use some of the grease from your hair."

"Yes, sir." Why oh why hadn't he gone to Azkaban with the others?

IIIIIIIIII

Luna checked herself in the mirror one last time. Her image was, as expected, perfect.

"I am the very model of a modern major mass market media reporter," Luna said in satisfaction at a job well done. "Now to find father to inform him that he is to inform me that my next assignment is to cover Harry Potter and his adventures as an agent working for the mysterious agency known only as THE AGENCY."

Filled with pride at her excellent summation, Luna skipped down the stairs and into her father's office which was on the second floor and thus required a quick skip back up the stairs before skipping into it.

"Hello, father," Luna chirped. "Guess what?"

"Is that my stubble?" he demanded.

"Every hard boiled reporter needs stubble," Luna said reasonably. "Now, as to my next assignment . . ."

"I never said you could use my stubble."

"Then you shouldn't have just left it in the sink," Luna replied. "It's mine now."

"But that's where I keep it."

"And your security charms were pathetic, it's like you wanted me to take your stubble."

"I want it back."

"Too bad, I glued it on."

"We'll just see about that," he growled.

"We shall," she sniffed. "I'll be tracking down Harry if you need me."

"Alright, pumpernickel. "I'll be here plotting how I'm going to retrieve my stubble if you need me."

"Switch places in two days so that we can both get a fresh perspective if we haven't already succeeded?" Luna proposed.

"Deal."

IIIIIIIIII

Harry allowed the car to coast to a stop about a block from his target's location. He hadn't planned on doing this today, hadn't planned on doing anything but peeling the next layer of the onion that was Hedwig's nemisis's organization. Then he saw him, and Harry knew that he couldn't let the bastard live.

"You stay here, Hedwig," Harry whispered. "This time it isn't business, it's personal."

"Preck?"

"I don't remember which movie," Harry replied. "Sorry."

"Preck." The owl shrugged.

"Any advice?"

"Preck, preck . . . preck," Hedwig said professionally.

"Thanks, girl. I'll just grab a couple socks and I'm sure the people at that pool hall will let me borrow a billiard ball if I ask nicely and tell them why I want it."

As it happened, they were happy to lend Harry a billiard ball and even came out to watch as Harry took out the trash.

Harry increased his pace as he got closer and closer to the target. When he got to within arms reach, he let fly and the billiard ball loaded sock impacted on the mime's ribcage with a meaty thump.

The cheers of the crowd roared in Harry's ears, drowning out the screams of the blood covered mime as Harry swung the sock again and and again and again and then things went red for a few minutes. When Harry came back to himself, all that was left of the mime was a blood covered puddle of hair atop of pile of lice ridden clothing on the ground.

"Finished?" a familiar bossy voice demanded.

"Hermione?" Harry said nervously. "I can explain?"

"You can explain why the only way to open the boot, the place where the books I haven't read yet is the key in your pocket and that you were too inconsiderate to leave it with me?" Hermione growled. "Can you explain that?"

"I thought you could use the release," Harry said weakly.

"It's broken," she barked.

Seeing the look on the more then slightly unbalanced girl's face and correctly surmising what would happen to him if he didn't get a fresh bit of reading material in the girl's hands tout sweet, Harry's hands dove into his pocket in a frantic search for the key.

"It's not in my pocket," Harry said nervously. "It must still be in the car."

"It had better be," Hermione said through clenched teeth. The withdrawal symptoms were hitting her hard. "Or you'll be joining us in the girl's dorm next year."

"That would be grea . . ." Harry trailed off as the implications hit him.

"Found it," Hermione chirped. "You left it sitting in the center console." She giggled. "Silly Harry."

"Yeah," Harry croaked. "Silly me."

Harry waited until his best friend was deeply immersed in her book before he even thought of approaching the car. When he did it was in a slow and cautious manner, one often seen exhibited by members of a bomb squad when approaching pallets of nitroglycerin.

"I'm sorry, Hedwig," Harry said as he started the car with trembling hands. "But I need a day or two to recover from what happened."

"Preck," the owl agreed sympathetically. Now if only she could figure out how to channel the bossy one's intensity into serving THE AGENCY.

IIIIIIIIII

Arthur's eyes were wide with wonder as the terrorists clamped the jumper cable to his genitals.

"And you say this uses eleketikity?" he asked intently.

"You vill tell us vhat vee vant to know or vee vill be giving you zee bit dose of it," one of the terrorists threatened.

"Fascinating." Arthur craned his neck to examine the jumper cable clamped onto his johnson. "Can you do it now?"

"What?"

"The eleketikity," Arthur explained. "Can you give it to me now?"

"Not unless you answer our questions," one of the more intelligent terrorists interjected smoothly.

"Where is Mother Owl?"

"The biscuits? I don't know, Molly always hides them so our youngest son can't find them. Can I have that electricity now?"

"Err."

"Just a small amount until we can confirm your story," another terrorist offered. "Hit him."

IIIIIIIIII

Harry stared out the window of his penthouse suite, a pensive look on his face and a glass of scotch in his hand.

"Preck?"

"I know I wussed out," Harry agreed. "Can you blame me?"

"Preck?"

"You remember what she did to that one guy that set off a stink bomb in the library don't you?"

"Preck preck preck preck."

"I can't either," Harry agreed. "Sometimes I wake up screaming. I'm not saying that seeing something that horrific doesn't have it's advantages. Makes facing Voldemort a breeze since it's not like there's anything he can do that can even compare, unimaginative prick."

"Preck preck preck."

"I intend to, THE AGENCY is picking up the tab for the booze right?"

"Preck."

"Good, cause I'm going to drink till I kill the memory of what happened today."

"Preck?"

"Well obviously not the part about the mime, come on, girl."

"Preck."

"Really, can I get a copy of the video?"

"Preck preck."

"You're the best, girl." Harry downed his glass and poured another, proving once again that the good stuff is wasted on teenagers.

IIIIIIIIII

Molly glared at the terrorists that had kidnapped her and tied her to a chair. She'd known that Arthur's silly fascination with muggle things would get them into trouble eventually, but had he listened?

"Vere is . . ."

"Don't take that tone with me, young man," Molly barked.

"What? Uh, I mean, vhat?"

"Show some respect," Molly chided. "Now then, what was so important that you saw the need to kidnap me while I was out shopping?"

"Vee vanted to know vere Mother Owl was," the terrorist replied.

"Did Ron put you up to this?" Molly demanded. "Cause if he did, then that boy is in so much trouble."

"Ron did not put us up to this," the terrorist assured the frightening woman.

"Take me back to the market then," Molly growled. "And I'll show you where Mother Owl is kept."

Molly grumbled to herself throughout the whole car ride back to the grocer, enraged by the disrespect she'd been shown. Well, until she'd gotten them properly cowed of course.

"Since you saw fit to interrupt my shopping then I suppose you'll have no problems carrying my things and paying for everything, will you?"

"No, Mrs. Weasley," the terrorist said quickly.

"Good." She grabbed the man by the collar and frogmarched him through the store to the bakery section. "There they are, Mother Owl brand biscuits."

"Mein Gott," the man gasped. "There's more to this then we'd suspected. I have to tell the others."

"After," Molly's shrill waspish voice cut through the terrorist's musings. "You help me with my shopping."

IIIIIIIIII

The terrorists watched in fascination as their former captive carefully attached jumper cables to their fattest captive.

"The elektrity goes through these wires you say?" Arthur asked.

"It does."

"Fascinating." The crazed wizard hit the switch and watched the fat man convulse. "Is there any way to make the elekrity level go higher?"

"Uh . . . remember how we told you that you were free to go?" one of the terrorists asked unsurely. "That means you can go back to your family."

"In a bit," Arthur laughed. "It'd be best to give Molly a few hours to cool down before I go home." And if he timed things right, dinner would be put on the table just as he arrived. "About the elekrity?"

"See that dial there? Turn it clockwise and it'll get more powerful."

"Wonderful," Arthur cheered.

A tear rand down Vernon's face as he watched the red headed freak turn the dial to maximum. What had he done to deserve this?

AN: I notice that Clell hasn't been imprisoned or stoned for his role in what's happened here, shame on you all.


	3. Rosengård

Disclaimer: The unspeakable horror gets unspeakably worse in an unspeakable way. Fear not, the end is near.

Rosengård

"It isn't working," Harry said, his eyes staring off in a dull, unfocused stare. "No matter how much I drink, I still see those eyes . . . those cold reptilian eyes."

"Preck?" Hedwig scoffed.

"Then you go tell her she can't have the next book. You'll see what I mean, in the short time you have left in the world."

"Preck!"

"I thought not," Harry laughed. "War would be over in a day if I could find a way to get Voldemort to piss her off . . . maybe convince the bastard that he had to start burning books to win or something."

"Preck?"

"Of course I can't do that! What are you mad?" Harry looked around fearfully. "No matter how well I covered my tracks, SHE would find out."

"Preck, preck preck preck."

"Even if I was willing to sacrifice myself for the 'Greater Good' I think it's more then likely that she'd kill you too and I'm certainly not willing to sacrifice you for the so called greater good."

"Preck."

"Don't mention it, we're partners."

"Preck preck preck, preck preck. Preck . . . preck preck preck, preck. Preck preck preck? Preck, preck preck. PRECK! Preck preck, preck."

"That's beautiful." Harry wiped a tear off his cheek. "Thanks, girl. You always know just what to say."

"Preck."

IIIIIIIIII

Dumbledore bobbed his head to the funky beat and his heart beat faster and faster as the headliner sashayed out to take her place in the limelight.

"Yeah," the old wizard cheered. "Take it off, take it all off."

The beat slowed and the dancer began to dance removing piece after piece until she was covered by only a thin piece of gauze.

Dumbledore's cheers grew louder as that last piece, the only shred left of the dancer's dignity hit the stage.

IIIIIIIIII

Snape wept as he took another spin around the pole; truly, this is hell. 'Why couldn't I have gone to Azkaban with the others?' He wondered for the hundredth time. Wouldn't have been so bad, one meal a day in a dank dark cell surrounded by dementors twenty three hours a day. Why, he'd even heard that they gave prisoners an hour of exercise in the yard every month, quite posh, that was.

"Damn it, Severus," Dumbledore growled as the lights came on and the music stopped. "What have I told you? Keep that damned thing tucked or cut it off; seeing it dangling there between your legs ruins it for me."

"Sorry, sir," Snape sighed. "And you're sure that this is a condition of my parole?"

"Yes! Now tape that thing back and take it from the top."

"Yes, sir," Snape sobbed, a broken man. Well, next time he'd know better. When a powerful wizard offers to get you out of Azkaban, you reply with a firm 'NO!'

IIIIIIIIII

Thoughts whirling around his head, Arthur distraction made him immune from his wife's disapproving glares.

"I've got a new job, darling," he announced suddenly.

"When did you decide to leave the Ministry?" Molly demanded. "It's not a great career, but it's steady work with guaranteed pay."

"I'm gonna keep that one, too," Arthur bubbled, almost unable to contain himself. "Remember those nice men that kidnapped us earlier today?"

"What about them?" Molly growled, still annoyed that they'd interrupted her shopping time.

"They've offered me a thousand pounds a week to play with eliktratiey," Arthur continued. "Isn't it grand?"

"A thousand pounds may sound like a quite a bit, but you have to remember that it's muggle money. We'll have to pay to exchange it at Gringotts and it's several pounds to each Galleon, are you sure it's worth it?"

"I'm getting paid to do something in my spare time that I was already doing for free," Arthur countered. "And every little bit helps."

"True," Molly sighed. "Tell me more about this job. What exactly does it entail?"

So accustom were they to ignoring their parents, the Weasley children missed every word of the conversation. Thus insuring that they wouldn't play any significant part in the coming events, at least not for the immediate future.

IIIIIIIIII

Luna sashayed down the street like a cat on the prowl. Her mission was to find Harry Potter and seduce enough answers out of the boy to write an article for an upcoming issue of the Quibbler. She would not fail, she would write the best article ever, she had to go home to see if the oven was still on.

The girl sighed; if it wasn't one thing it was another.

IIIIIIIIII

Harry took a couple deep breaths to psych himself up as he went over the plan. First he would knock on the door and shoot the guard through the peephole. After that, he'd shoot the hinges off the door and enter the building. From there, things got tricky since he had to fight his way to the building's secure room, crack the safe, and, if possible, take a couple high value prisoners.

"Got enough books, Hermione?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Mumph," the girl mumbled.

"The keys are in the ignition if you need to get into the boot to get more books," Harry added, hoping to god that the girl was listening and terrified of what would happen to him if he disturbed her reading.

"Mumph," Hermione agreed.

"Be back soon," Harry said as he stepped out of the car.

IIIIIIIIII

Snape looked down at the plaid dress the Headmaster had forced on him. With a deep breath, he stepped out and began to sing.

"On the good ship, Lollypop. It's a sweet trip to the . . ."

"No no no," Albus bellowed. "Not like that, do it in sexy voice."

"Sir?"

"A sexy voice," Dumbledore repeated. "Try to sound like a young girl. Take it from the top."

"Yes, sir." He hated his life.

IIIIIIIIII

Harry emerged from the building dragging a handcuffed and screaming man only seconds before it exploded in a large fiery ball.

"Preck?" Hedwig asked.

"Used a lot of propane and diesel," Harry replied. "Would have taken less time if I'd used normal explosives, but I think this is much more aesthetically pleasing."

"Preck," Hedwig agreed. "Preck preck preck, preck preck. Preck, preck preck . . . preck preck. Preck preck preck!"

Harry burst into laughter. "Prague," he giggled, tears rolling down his face. "And the man in the hat." It took a couple minutes for the boy to regain control. "You've got the best stories, girl."

"Preck."

Harry was still chuckling when he popped the boot so he'd have a place to put his newest prisoner.

"He had better not get any blood on my books," Hermione growled, not even bothering to look up.

Harry glanced at his owl who shrugged in reply. "Of course not, Hermione." The boy pulled a hank of rope out of the boot.

"This is so unprofessional," the terrorist grouched as Harry tied him to the bonnet. "If you didn't have room in the boot, then you shouldn't have kidnapped me in the first place."

"Sorry about this," Harry sighed. "There's room, but if her books get even a speck of blood on them." He shuddered in fear. "Trust me, torture and an eventual bullet in the back of the head is a much better option."

"Let's just get this over with," the terrorist sighed. Amateurs.

IIIIIIIIII

Snape dragged himself out of bed and gave a long, longing look at the vial of poison he carried to deny the Dark Lord the pleasure if his role as a double agent should ever be discovered. Reluctantly, he tucked it under his shirt. Another opportunity passed up meant another day in hell.

Dumbledore was waiting in his office when Severus arrived and the smile on the old man's face made Severus wish he'd taken the poison rather then face whatever horror the old man had dreamt up.

"Good morning, Severus," Dumbledore greeted the man. "I have just one task for you to perform today."

"Only one task?" Snape asked hopefully.

"Just one," Dumbledore agreed.

"What is it?" Snape asked almost eagerly. A whole day to himself after just one act of unspeakable horror.

"Nothing too arduous." Dumbledore's smile deepened. "I just want you to toss my salad."

"Sir?" Snape asked sickly.

Dumbledore bent over his desk and looked over his shoulder. "Well, get to it."

IIIIIIIIII

A childish grin lit Harry's face as he drove through another rosebush and the screams of his hood ornament were music to his ears.

"Preck," Hedwig suggested.

"You sure he doesn't need more softening up?" Harry asked in disappointment.

"Preck."

"But it's really fun to drive through rosebushes and he really seems to hate it," Harry cajoled as he drove through another rose bush.

"Preeeeeeeeek, preck," Hedwig agreed. "Preck preck preck."

"Right, three more," Harry cheered. "Help me find a big one."

"Preck preck."

"Right," Harry agreed. He lined the car up, stomped on the accelerator, and frowned in confusion when the car came to a sudden and abrupt halt.

"Preck?"

"I've got no clue why we stopped so abruptly," Harry replied.

"Feels like you cracked the axel," the hood ornament said helpfully. "Those roses were hiding some nasty things."

"Guess we shouldn't have been running through all those bushes then," Harry sighed.

"I wouldn't say that," their captive laughed. "I gotta admit, I had my doubts at first but that is one hell of a way to soften someone up."

"Fun too."

"Maybe on your end, I'm gonna be picking out thorns for weeks."

"What makes you think you'll live that long?"

"What time is it?" the terrorist retorted.

"Almost five. Why?"

"Because I'm off the clock at five," the terrorist explained. "And on holiday till September. Find out what you want to know before five or wait a couple months."

"Can he do that?" Harry asked his owl.

"Preck," Hedwig cursed. "Preck preck."

"Uh . . . where's your boss," Harry ventured.

"Couldn't say."

"How about . . ."

"Preck."

"Right," Harry agreed. "That's five."

"Come on, girl. Let's go find some new wheels," Harry suggested. "We'll be back with a new car soon, Hermione."

"Murgle," the girl mumbled.

"Not gonna untie me?"

"Wasn't planning to," Harry replied.

"How bout I give you a contact that can get you a new car, and you cut me loose."

"Deal."

Hedwig's sharp talons made short work of the weak nylon.

"Eastend, place called Assault and Battery, chap in the back corner named Nigel should be able to set you up."

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

"Don't mention it," the terrorist waved it off. "And I guess I'll be seeing you in September to finish up what we started here?"

"Don't worry about it," Harry replied. "I'll be back at school and they take a dim view of students sneaking out, coming back to London, and torturing terrorists."

"Guess some things never change then, pity."

IIIIIIIIII

Severus finished up and pulled a tin of mints out of his pocket. Years of dealing with the Headmaster had taught him to be prepared. The mints didn't help so the Potions Master was forced to fall back on more traditional ways of coping.

"What a wonderful way to start the day. Thank you, Severus." Dumbledore glanced at the clock. "And not to nit pick, but I'm still waiting on that salad."

Snape stopped vomiting long enough to give the Headmaster a quizzical look.

"A chicken caesar I think," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "You'll find the salad fixings on the table."

"You mean I didn't have to . . ." Snape vomited again. "Why didn't you stop me?"

"I didn't want to seem rude," Dumbledore replied. "Which I would have been if I'd turned down your unexpected offer."

"Unexpected?" Snape squealed. "You know damn well what tossing a salad is."

"Whatever do you mean? It's not like that phrase is slang for . . . oh my, I suppose I see how there could have been some misunderstanding," Dumbledore agreed. "You really should ask questions if you don't understand something, Severus."

"Yes, sir," Snape said in defeat. Never did he wish he'd gone to Azkaban with the others more then he did at that moment.

"Well, hop to it. That salad isn't going to toss itself." Dumbledore smiled. "And after that, I've got a few more errands for you to run."

"But you said I'd get the rest of the day to myself," Snape protested.

"Yes, but that was before you chose to dawdle. I should have had that salad almost an hour ago. You really need to get on the ball, Severus." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Speaking of balls, I know just what I'm going to have you do while I'm eating that salad."

IIIIIIIIII

Assault and Battery turned out to be a fish and chips shop, and Nigel turned out to be an elderly woman named Elizabeth.

After the pleasantries were exchanged, Harry got down to business. "I'm told you can hook me up with a new set of wheels?"

"That's the Nigel in the other corner," the old woman replied. "Happens all the time. I sell machine guns and explosives."

"Oh, I'm gonna need some of those too."

"Just give me a list after you speak with Nigel, dearie," the old woman said, getting back to her knitting.

"I will, thanks." Harry got up and walked to the other corner. "I'm told you can get me a new set of wheels?"

"What are you looking for?"

"Something durable enough to drive through a few dozen rosebushes without cracking an axel," Harry replied. "Being resistant to small arms fire and having enough room to store some books would be nice too."

"I've got just the thing," Nigel announced. "When do you need it?"

"Now would be good," Harry replied.

"Let me make a couple of calls."

IIIIIIIIII

Snape wore a red cardigan over a grey featureless dress. Taking a moment to adjust his frizzy red wig, he stepped onto the stage and began to sing.

"It's a hard cock life for me! Dumbles say I can't-be-free! It's a hard cock life!" tears were streaming down the man's face, why couldn't he have been kissed by a Dementor, or been killed by an angry mob?

IIIIIIIIII

Harry gave a low appreciative whistle when he got a look at the thing his new arms dealers brought out.

"What is it?"

"Ferret MK two four," Nigel said proudly. "Armed with a seven sixty two Browning machine gun in the turret. Did a bit of work on it to improve the range and speed, used to be one ninety and fifty eight. Should do three fifty and seventy five. Also improved the seats, added some comforts, that sort of thing."

"I'll take it," Harry agreed.

"How will you pay for it?"

"Hedwig?"

"Preck." Hedwig handed him her corporate credit card.

"Take credit cards?"

"Course I do," the big man replied. "Anything else?"

"Couple orders of fish and chips," Harry agreed.

"Preck, preck preck."

"I don't think they sell rats here," Harry whispered back.

"We've got rabbits," the man supplied helpfully.

"Preck preck preck."

"Two rabbits," Harry ordered.

IIIIIIIIII

Dumbledore rose from his chair and took his feet off of his footstool.

"I think I'm going to turn in early, Severus," he informed his footstool. "Do whatever you want after we finish our dinner."

"Just a dinner?" Snape asked suspiciously.

"And then you can go to bed," Dumbledore agreed. "Or research new potions or anything you desire so long as you don't leave the castle."

"What are we having?"

"Meat and two veg," Dumbledore replied, waving at the table.

To Snape's immense relief, there were two plates on the table. It didn't appear that he'd have to do anything sinister at all.

"Looks delicious," he murmured in pleasure.

"I had the house elves use an old family recipe," Dumbledore agreed, taking his seat.

"Bon appetite," Severus sighed as he sat down.

"What are you doing, Severus?" Dumbledore demanded. "That's Fawkes' food, your dinner is under the table."

"Sir?" Snape's heart sunk.

"You know what I want you to do, Severus," Dumbledore murmured. "So get to it, provide me with a bit of entertainment with my dinner."

"Chirp."

"Fawks next," Dumbledore agreed.

IIIIIIIIII

When he arrived to pick up his friend, Harry found that Hermione was less then impressed by his choice of transportation.

"It's a bloody tank," Hermione groused. "I bet it's not even legal for you to be driving that thing around."

"It's an armored car, and it is," Harry grumbled back. A flash of inspiration hit. "As you'd know if you had done the proper research."

"Are you saying I don't do my research?" Hermione hissed.

"I'm saying that you haven't had the chance to," Harry replied quickly. "So why don't we stop by a bookstore so that you can get the appropriate reference material."

"Fine," she agreed. "But there had better be a light in there so I can read."

"There is."

"And it had better not be too loud."

"It isn't."

IIIIIIIIII

Dumbledore awoke with a smile, not surprising considering his 'alarm'.

The old wizard lifted up the blanket to make eye contact. "Good work, Severus. After this, I'm going to need you to give me another prostate massage, then a sponge bath. We'll think about what you should do after breakfast later."

"Why," Snape sobbed. "Why do you make me do these horrible things?"

"You want to know why?" asked the Headmaster with a twinkle in his eye.

"Yes!"

"Alright," Dumbledore agreed. "I shall tell you then. Tell me, Severus," Dumbledore began calmly. "Do you enjoy doing the errands I assign you?"

"No," Snape shuddered, images of unspeakable perversion danced in his head. "I do not."

"Would you say that they create memories so horrid, that they will haunt you forever?"

"I would," Snape agreed.

"And that is the brilliance of my plan to redeem you," Dumbledore finished proudly. "If you violate your parole, then you will go to Azkaban, yes?"

"A fate which seems less and less terrible every day," Snape agreed.

"If you find yourself incarcerated in Azkaban, the Dementors will force you to continually relive every 'errand' you've ever run for me over and over again without stop. Correct?"

"No," Snape gasped in horrified realization. The wizard began to shake as the true horror of his situation finally making itself clear.

"That's right, Severus," Dumbledore announced. "It's redemption or death. Why look at the time. Break out the hemorrhoid cream, Severus, and be sure to spend extra time on the prostate this session, I'm feeling frisky today."

"Ye . . . yes, sir," Snape sobbed. Shoulders slumped, the Head of Slytherin set about his assigned task

"And don't think too seriously about death," Dumbledore called after him. "I have ways of dealing with escape attempts."

AN: I did warn you abut the unspeakable horror. Keep saving that loose change! You'll be glad you did.


	4. Summer Has Come and Past

Disclaimer: Bad news and good news. Bad news is that I'm spending most of my writing time on course papers. Good news is that there's an exciting new project on the way featuring the works of a number of authors, including the one responsible for this travesty of a fic. Looking at you Clell.

Summer Has Come and Past

Hermione finished her book with a victorious smile. Once more she had ventured forth to do combat and once more she had vanquished the beast of ignorance. A frown appeared on her face as she looked around.

"Harry?"

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Were are we?"

"We're in my penthouse suite," Harry replied.

"Oh." She let the thought simmer for a bit. "Since when have you had a penthouse suite?"

"We've been living here for the past week," Harry sighed.

"Oh." She mulled it over for a bit. "Have you been doing things I'd disapprove of again?"

"Why look what I have here," Harry said quickly. "A book you haven't read yet."

"I know what you're trying to do, Harry Potter," Hermione growled. "And it won't work."

Harry cracked the book open. "It even smells new, I bet no one has ever read it before."

A bead of sweat appeared on the girl's brow. "Explain yourself, Harry."

"All that knowledge, waiting to be acquired. Shame that no one . . ."

"Gimme." Hermione snatched the book out of his hands and settled down.

"That was a close one," Harry sighed.

"Preck," Hedwig called out from the balcony.

"Cut the rope then," Harry called back. "He's obviously not going to talk."

"Preck," Hedwig agreed.

"I'll talk," a voice called out faintly. "Please let me talk."

Harry walked over to the balcony and looked down at his captive. "Why don't you start with your boss's location?"

"Just bring me up," the terrorist sobbed.

"Maybe later."

IIIIIIIIII

Amelia raised the privacy charms as her Aurors did a sweep on the office.

"Clear."

"And they're up," Amelia finished. "Talk to me."

"Another body found floating in the Thames," one of the Aurors reported. "Signs of torture, rope marks on the ankles, and traces show that he spent time in a magical environment before he died."

"We have an I.D. on the body?" Amelia barked.

"Seems to be a muggle, we've turned it over to them for the rest of the case," the Auror replied.

"We know who did this?"

"There's only one Death Eater still active," the Auror growled. "Why in the hell haven't we dragged him in, who else could it be?"

"You want to know why Snape's free despite the fact that we're fairly sure he's behind all this?" Amelia asked.

"Yes, ma'am," the lackey agreed.

"We've got no proof," Amelia explained with a bitter smile. "Unlike my predecessors, proof of guilt is something I rather insist upon before I'm willing to send a man to Azkaban."

"Why don't we just bring the bastard in on some pretext and fill him full of veritaserum?"

"Because the bastard is a potions master," Amelia replied.

"What about legilimency?"

"Dumbledore's found a fool proof mental defense," Amelia sighed. "No one is sure what it is. All we know is that every legilimencer that's probed the bastard's mind has needed an obliviation to stop them from clawing their eyes out and screaming."

"Dastardly."

IIIIIIIIII

Luna's father sashayed down the street like a cat on the prowl. His mission was to find Harry Potter and seduce enough answers out of the boy to write an article for an upcoming issue of the Quibbler. Where his daughter had failed, he would succeed. He had two days before they were scheduled to switch off again, time to show his little girl how a man did it.

IIIIIIIIII

Following Hedwig's exacting directions; Harry put a hand full of ice in a martini glass and another in a mixing tin. He then carefully measured half an ounce of vermouth and poured it over the ice, dumping out everything that didn't stick to the ice after a quick stir. He next added two and a half ounces of gin.

"Shaken not stirred?" He asked with a grin.

"PRECK?" Hedwig barked in alarm. "Preck preck preck preck!"

"Stirred then," he agreed quickly. "Sorry, girl. I didn't know."

"Preck," the owl sniffed.

"No one's ever taught me about cocktails before," Harry replied.

"Preck, preck preck preck."

"I don't think Professor McGonagall would like hearing you refer to Hogwarts as a third rate diploma mill," Harry replied. He dumped the ice out of the glass and reached for a jar of olives.

"Preck! Preck preck preck," Hedwig commanded.

"An onion?" He exclaimed. "But I thought martinis had olives?"

"Preck, preck preck preck."

"Right," he sighed. "Real agents drink gibsons, only third rate sissies drink martinis and only idiot third rate sissies drink vodka martinis." Why oh why did he have to get such a judgmental owl?

"Preck," Hedwig agreed smugly.

Harry had just finished mixing his own drink when Hermione burst into the room and snatched it out of his hands. Harry watched in shock as the girl downed his drink and reached for the bottle.

"Had a good talk with your mum, then?"

"My uncle is dating Bellatrix Lestrange," Hermione announced. "How in the bloody hell do you think my conversation was?"

"Preck," Hedwig laughed.

"It's not nice to laugh at other people's misfortunes," Harry admonished his owl, struggling to keep from bursting into laughter.

"Preck," Hedwig commented.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Do you want to order another case of gin or should I?"

"Preck preck."

Harry glanced over at his friend. "Right, two cases."

"Preck preck, preck."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I'll call her mum after I order the gin."

"Preck, preck."

"I am not seducing her," Harry sighed. "How many times do we have to go over this?" She was his best friend and he didn't want to do anything to risk their friendship. Besides, he figured it'd be a bit like beddin yer sister . . . have to ask Ron about that later, he decided.

"Preck."

"Fine," Harry huffed. A quick call to the front desk solved the gin problem, a much longer call to the Granger residence caused a whole new set of problems.

"Preck?"

"Voldemort's dead," Harry murmured in shock.

"PRECK?"

"Ran afoul of the British Dental Association," Harry replied.

Hedwig shuddered, not even she wanted to get on the bad side of the British Dental Association. Her eyes widened in sudden realization. "Preck," she accused.

"It wasn't an intentional pun," Harry said quickly.

"Preck," Hedwig sniffed. "Preck preck preck?"

"She agrees with you," Harry sighed. "Guess I'm going to have to seduce her after all."

"Preck preck."

"It's just, I've never seduced anyone before."

"Preck," Hedwig sighed. "Preck preck preck."

"And then?"

IIIIIIIIII

Luna Lovegood sashayed down the street like a cat on the prowl. Her mission was to . . . she stopped, what was her mission again? Oh right, to assemble a rag tag group of criminals to rob the most secure bank in the world, and if not the world then at least the most secure in Diagon Alley. The Goblins were in for a big surprise.

IIIIIIIIII

Harry was standing in front of Hermione's door wearing a freshly tailored white dinner jacket his right hand clenched convulsively while his left was wrapped around the handle of a basket.

"Okay," he said. "Let's run through this again."

"Preck."

"I go in, bow and fluff my suit."

"Preck."

"Then I strut around with my arms spread and dragging on the ground," Harry said slowly, wanting to get everything right.

"Preck," Hedwig confirmed.

"Then I give her the dead lemmings?"

"Preck," Hedwig agreed.

"Are you sure she'll want dead lemmings?" Harry asked.

"Preck preck?" Hedwig scoffed. "Preck preck preck preck."

"It's just . . ."

"Preck preck?" Hedwig cut him off.

"No, I haven't."

"Preck preck preck preck?"

"I haven't gone through the seduction course either," Harry sighed.

"Preck preck preck?"

"You have."

"Preck preck preck. Preck preck, preck. Preck preck!"

"Fine," Harry agreed.

"Preck preck."

"Alright," Harry opened the door and slipped into the room.

Hedwig listened as Harry went through the routine, boy's mating call needed a bit of work but that was something they could deal with later. Just as she was about to leave, the door flung open and Harry rushed out of the room, narrowly avoiding an empty bottle that smashed against the wall.

"Preck?"

"She didn't like the lemmings," Harry replied.

"Preck preck?" Hedwig was aghast.

"I'm sure," Harry confirmed. "Everything was going good till I presented them."

"Preck preck preck preck?"

"She seemed to like the mating call," Harry replied quickly.

"Preck preck preck," Hedwig muttered, not sure she wanted her Harry to get involved with a deviant like that.

"Maybe we could try it again, but replacing the lemmings with books?" Harry suggested.

"Preck preck," Hedwig agreed. It wasn't like they had anything to loose.

"Oh, and about the lemmings."

"Preck?"

"I saved 'em for you," Harry held out the basket. "Figured it was better then letting them go to waste."

"Preck preck."

"You're welcome."

IIIIIIIIII

Luna looked around the table, sitting around it was the scum of the wizarding world. Men so wicked as to defy description.

"Any questions?" She purred.

"I've got one," a one eyed wizard growled. "Why are you in charge? Seems to me we could do this whole plan without you." The man smirked. "Seems to me . . ." I look of shock appeared on his face as he slumped over.

"Anyone else have any questions?" Luna asked sweetly. "Remember, there are no stupid questions. Just stupid people asking questions that will get them killed."

No one else had any questions.

IIIIIIIIII

Harry was once again standing in front of Hermione's door wearing a freshly tailored white dinner jacket his right hand clenched convulsively while his left was holding the biggest, oldest, rarest, most boring book he could find and then steal.

"Wish me luck," he said.

"Preck preck," Hedwig assured him.

"Thanks." Harry took a deep breath. "Here we go."

Hedwig was confident that everything would go right this time, it had better after all that time they'd spent working on his mating call. The sounds of a girl squealing in orgasmic bliss confirmed that her lessons hadn't been in vain, her Harry was becoming a man. Hedwig began strutting away from the door, it was time for her celebratory cigar. That was when the boy walked out of the room with a dazed expression on his face.

"Preck preck."

"No, I'm not that quick," Harry replied quickly.

"Preck preck preck?"

"Took the book and just seemed to forget about me," Harry replied. "Do you think I should have gotten a smaller, younger, less rare, and more interesting book?"

"Preck preck preck preck," she consoled him.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Next time."

IIIIIIIIII

Luna watched dispassionately as the dragon ripped apart the last member of her team. She'd needed a distraction to get past the beast so she'd chosen the fattest safe cracker in the business. He'd gotten her through the vault doors and now he was getting her past the last obstacle. So nice when minions had more then one use, no place for a unitaskers in her gang. Humming a happy tune, she skipped past the dragon, through the door, and into freedom.

IIIIIIIIII

Harry made a last walk through of the penthouse to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything they'd need for Hogwarts.

"Preck?"

"Looks like it," Harry agreed. "You have all your books, Hermione?"

"Mumph, yum," she mumbled.

"Preck?"

"I'm gonna take it as a yes," Harry replied. "Meeting us at Hogwarts?"

"Preck," Hedwig agreed. "Preck preck preck, preck preck. Preck PRECK!"

"I will be," he promised. "See you later."

"Preck, preck preck," Hedwig advised before taking wing.

Harry gave a heavy sigh as he looked at his trunk and Hermione's three trunks of books that he had to get down to the armored car. All he think is how happy he was for the featherlight charms or he'd be heading for a hernia.

IIIIIIIIII

A smile graced Luna's face as she regarded the piles of gold littering her sitting room. Everything had gone according to plan, right down to the fact that none of her accomplices had survived Gringotts' traps leaving her to inherit the sole share.

"Oh hohohohohoho," Luna's demented laughter filled the room.

"Have a good seduction, then?" Her father asked, announcing his entrance.

"Seduction?" Luna frowned. "But father, wasn't I supposed to break into Gringotts to rob it of several million galleons worth of gold?"

He took a look around the room. "You are in so much trouble, I can't even begin to punish you for it."

"So you'd better not try," she agreed.

"I'm not falling for that one again," he growled. "I want you to go to your room and write a tasteful note of apology to the Goblins for making a mockery of their security and then I want you to mail it to them along with the gold you stole."

"Alright, father," Luna agreed. "Do you think I should use the pink stationary with the bunnies or the green stationary with the kitties?"

"You can never go wrong with pink bunnies," her father replied after a moment of thought.

IIIIIIIIII

It was a thoroughly professional job, Harry reflected as they blocked him in. Giving a charming smile to the group of men holding anti-tank missiles, Harry stepped out of the car.

"I'm sure we can sit down and talk about this like rational men, no need to dwell on the fact that I've been spending the summer killing your compatriots."

The last thing he saw was the butt of the rifle that sent him into unconsciousness

IIIIIIIIII

Luna's father looked up as his only daughter skipped into his office.

"Gringotts sent a reply to my note, father," Luna reported.

"What does it say?"

"It states that there have been no break ins and that I must be mistaken," she replied. "It goes on to suggest that I must have run afoul of a rum winged hum dinger, a creature that's well known for granting large sums of gold to anyone that discovers it and then modifying their memory to think they robbed Gringotts."

"I suppose that makes sense," he agreed. "I'm sorry I doubted you, lemon grass."

"That's okay, father. You know how tricky rum winged hum dingers can be."

"What's that bit at the bottom?"

She squinted at the note. "Oh, just an assurance that the Malfoy and Fudge vaults have always been that empty."

"Good to know," he agreed.

"Father."

"Yes, potato?"

"I know what we're going to do next summer."

"What's that, asparagus?"

"We're going to seek out and classify the rum winged hum dinger," Luna declared. "But for now, I'm off to Hogwarts."

"Have a good time, peach."

"Don't forget to forget to take your medication, father."

IIIIIIIIII

When Harry awoke, he was in dire straights. His arms and legs were spread eagle and chained to a table as an evil looking one eyed bald man stroking an albino badger glared down at him.

"Nice badger," Harry complimented the evil mastermind.

"Thank you, it was a present from one of my granddaughters," the master villain replied. "Something to do with her school."

"She has good taste, too many men in your position choose cats."

"Thank you, I quite agree. Enough chit chat. Start, the laser," the bald man ordered. Several faceless minions hastened to carry out his orders.

Harry struggled against his bonds as the laser inched closer and closer. "Do you expect me to talk?"

"No, Mother Owl," the one eyed villain laughed. "I expect you to die."

"Uh . . . I'm not Mother Owl," Harry interjected.

"Then why in gods name have you been killing all my men?"

"Because I'm interning with Mother Owl this summer," Harry explained. "It's a common mistake."

"Then . . ." the evil mastermind glanced towards the chair Hermione had commandeered, the girl in question immersed in another book.

"No, she's just one of my school friends," Harry explained.

"Well now, this is all quite confusing." The dastardly fiend sighed. "Well, at least I can console myself with the fact that I've killed Mother Owl's right hand man . . . what was your name again?"

"Harry Potter."

"No code name?"

"Not yet," Harry agreed, making a mental note to bring the subject up with Hedwig at a later date.

"A shame you won't live long enough to get one," the dastardly man laughed.

"Uh . . ."

"What is it?"

"You're going to have to let me go," Harry explained. "I've got to be on a train in a few minutes to get to school."

"Fine," the man grumbled, hitting a button that caused Harry's restraints to release.

"And, I really hate to ask but . . ."

"What is it?"

"Do you mind having someone move my car to the parking space in my building?" Harry asked. "I'd really appreciate it."

"Oh, that's no problem. I'll have one of the henchmen take care of it."

"Thank you."

"Not at all, imagine how dreadful this business would be if you couldn't rely on professional courtesy. So I guess I'll be seeing you next summer?"

"Or I could come back during winter holidays to finish this if that would be more convenient for you," Harry offered.

"I'll be spending it with the grandchildren," the old man replied. "Don't believe I'd have the time to set up another death trap."

"Alright then. Next summer?"

"Next summer," the leader confirmed.

The End

(Omake in the next chapter)

AN: You may have noticed that Hedwig doesn't do much in this fic, well, she's an owl. In other news, stay tuned for an exciting new project available through amazon in a month or two. See jbern's profile on for details.

Polish by tengokujin, laros_deejay

Typos by: laros_deejay, tengokujin, Tommy King, Ronnie McMains II, Wolf T., Derek Dees, eric, Ed Armstrong, Taren, Mike Fairbanks, Jason, Jeremie

Massive error pointed out by SP

Brain juice donated by slickrcbd,

Scenes of unspeakable horror suggested by: Stick97, Tommy King


	5. Agent O: The Omake File

Disclaimer: Gripping tales from the files of . . . THE AGENCY

Agent O: The Omake File

Omake by Chris Hill

There were days that he wanted to celebrate his job, just like there were days he wanted to quit, wanted to kill his bosses, cursed to high heaven the various people he was surrounded with, etc.

At the moment, C was thinking that he would love to get his hands on his opposite number at THE AGENCY.

A plan of almost 40 years, shot to hell because the internal competition had a face boy. A damn teenager acting just like the movie version of 007.

Hell, they had created that identity for a reason, aside from public relations. The movies, books, licensing, etc were what really funded MI6, considering the damn politicians. It also sometimes worked for them, as the current 007 only lived through his last two missions because the people he went after laughed when he stated his name.

The smart ones just killed the agent, not try to set up a death trap to humor the idiot.

What was worse, was the exploits so far indicated that the boy, who he didn't even have a name for yet, was more competent than his best agent.

Damn, whoever this Mother Owl was, she was a handler of extreme professionalism. How she got permission to train a kid, probably from diapers, to handle these situations boggled the mind. Perhaps he could get permission to set up a similar program.

He picked up the phone, "Get me Bond. Now."

A few minutes later, a man answered C, "What is it?"

"Get down here, I have a mission for you to take out a few domestic terrorist."

There was a slight cough, "I'll be there as soon as I can...It will take a few days, however."

C slowly counted up to ten, and then said, equally slowly, "What. Do. You. Mean?"

"I'm currently in the Caribbean, a few hundred miles from anywhere. It will take a day or two to sail for port to catch a plane."

C pulled the phone slowly from his ear, then slammed it on the cradle and ground it in for a few moments. He had heard the giggling in the background. Damn the idiots who invented the cover. Because of that, the person who took over as 007, every two years or so, ended up bedding, or trying to bed, anything that wore a skirt.

Maybe he could hire Mother Owl and bring her agent with her. A new cover series for this particular agent, and good publicity for the agency.

C might just be able to buy a new fleet of vehicles for his agents as Parliament had cut their budget again last month.

Of course, C would have been even angrier to learn that it was because of THE AGENCY that the budget cuts were so harsh in the first place.

Ah well, he'd learn sooner or later.

Omake by Alexiaisk

"Prick," barked Hedwig, tensing her talons and preparing to leap into the air and viciously attack—

"Now now," said Harry sternly, "yes, he is, but that doesn't give you leave to attack him. He is my friend..."

"Prek. Prick."

"Yes, even if he is an idiot. You can't go around killing all the idiots in the world. There'd hardly be anyone left."

"Prek."

"No, Hedwig, that wouldn't be a good thing. Honestly, I know I let you become a top secret agent, but I think you are letting it go to your head. Besides, don't forget who introduced you to them."

"Perk."

"Yes, you may be a good fighter-" "Prick." "Fine, the best. But don't forget who taught you all of the dirty tricks of sneaking, escape, and emergency tactics—that, I note, you don't limit to using in emergency."

"Preck prick preck."

"You think you'll find my teacher? You don't want to find him."

"Preck?"

"Prick."

"Preck prick?"

"Dudley. The prick."

"Prick?"

"Prick."

"Preck prick?"

"He used to play this game called 'Harry Hunting.' I had to learn fast. Anyway I think you are developing a God complex."

"Prick preck!"

"Oh, come on. Not everyone can be as smart as Hermione. Honestly, it's as if you are in love."

"Preck prick prick preck!"

"Honestly, Hedwig, I don't say 'Honestly' every other sentence... this sentence not withstanding. And there is nothing between Hermione and I."

"Prick preck."

"Well, yes, he might also be attracted to Hermione, and yes, Hedwig, it does bother me slightly..."

"Prick."

"But that's no excuse to attack."

"Prick!"

"Honestly, Hedwig, it's not like we're talking about Ron! It's just Neville. He's not so bad."

Omakey by ginnymylove

Death Eater walks into a pet shop, "Do you sell snakes here?"

"What? Oh yes of course...

"Do you carry Pythons?"

"Well its a pet shop aint it?"

"I'd like to buy a Reticulated Python Please"

"Oh right...not got any of those."

"But you just said you carry pythons."

"Right, but were fresh out of the Retic's."

Man sighs, "Fine...how about a Ball Python then?"

"Sorry, we had one, but we just ran out."

"You don't actually have any Pythons do you?"

"No... not really."

"I see...but you do carry snakes?"

"Of course we do, were a pet shop ain't we?"

"Fine...you wouldn't happen to have any Anaconda would you?" The man starts to reply, "No..no of course you haven't. What about king snakes?"

"We have king snakes!"

"Oh good...I'll take the largest one you have then."

"Ope...sorry bout that. Seems we just ran out."

The man represses the urge to sigh as he palms his face, "Just ran..."

"Out, yes sir."

"Rattle snakes?"

"Nasty buggers, we don't carry those."

"Cobras?"

"Sorry sold the last one just before you came in."

"What about garter snakes?"

"oh yes sir! We have those in spades!"

The man slaps his hand down on the counter in triumph. "Excellent! I shall take 3 of those then."

"Oh...oh dear..."

"Now what!"

"Seems we just sold the last of those to that gentleman."

"WHAT GENTLEMAN? I've been the only one here for 30 minutes!"

"All's the same, just sold the last one."

"..."

"..."

"You don't actually sell snakes do you?"

"Ahhhh no... no we don't."

"What do you sell then?"

"We have bunny rabbits sir!"

The dark lord would not be pleased but he dared not go back empty handed, "Fine...I'll take a white bunny rabbit then."

"Oh sorry sir, fresh out of the white on..."

"Yes of course you are...nevermind. Have a good day."

Addition by Sarah Proudfit

"We have bunny rabbits sir!"

The dark lord would not be pleased but he dared not go back empty handed, "Fine...I'll take a white bunny rabbit then."

"Oh, you don't want that rabbit, sir! Its got a vicious streak a mile wide!"

"What's it gonna do, nibble me bum?"

"It's got nasty big pointy teeth!"

"Just box it up for me! I have a meeting," the Death Eater stormed out with the pet carrier. "Manky Scottish Git."

Later that night, gore covered Death Eaters rushed down Diagon Alley screaming, "Run Away! Run Away!"

Omake by laros_deejay

Harry was busy once again with the interrogation of yet another ... what was the word again, Hedwig?

"Prek."

Oh yes. Thank you, dear. ...busy with the interrogation of yet another delinquent suspect of being involved in various misconducts. The sun was shining brightly through the windows and the birds outside were singing loudly and happily, after Hedwig had a quiet word with them about their previous lackluster performance.

While the prisoner watched wide-eyed and with no little panic as Harry handled the implements of his trade while also holding a conversation with that far too smart-looking owl of his, the door opened. Now, experienced readers of this fic will be aware that this event will happen at least once every interrogation and it, as well as the sight a the sight of the girl entering, her nose stuck in a book she is engrossed in, will raise their hopes,making them struggle and produce various noises in the attempt to raise her attention in the futile hope that she is someone who would be able to save the from a fate worse than a world without bacon.

A world without bacon? Is that really...

"Prek."

Alright, moving on. This hope previously described will of course be invariably crushed, making the further steps of the interrogation very easy indeed and incredibly frustrating for any hard-working owl trying to attempt to teach a young whippersnapper the finer points of information extraction.

This was the situation now. Hermione entered, engrossed in her reading, raised and then crushed hopes without even noticing. She quickly lifted her eyes off the book to look at Harry.

"Don't mind me," she said as she got down to her knees in front of him. For a moment she looked confused kneeling there, then she whipped out her wand and got the book to levitate in mid-air while she kept both her hand free to now pull down his zipper and reach into his trousers.

The sun now shone onto a different wall but the birds still sang as enthusiastically when Harry registered the dull broken eyes of his prisoner and the hoarse almost-mumble of spilled secrets Hedwig was raptly listening to.

But the major part of his mind was dedicated to watching Hermione drop her book onto the "already read" stack - he could now make out the title, "Blow Jobs, A History" - and picked the next one from the "to be read" box. With dread Harry noted that it was "Sodomy, A History".

IIIIIIIIIII

A boy and his owl were sitting side-by-side.

They were amiably sharing a bag of pork scratchings. Three picks for the owl for every one pick for the boy. And it had better be a small one.

"Prek?"

"No chance in hell! Do I look suicidal?"

"Prek."

"Gee, thanks!"

"Prek. Prek."

"No, I'll just tell her some auror came and took it. With order from the minister himself."

"Prek."

"Uh-huh! They've all been burned. Every single one of them. The only copy left is the one the minister has. And maybe one in Voldemort's library."

"Prek."

"Don't be stupid. Don't you remember what happened when she read 'Relationship and Romance, A history'?"

"Prick."

"I still got the scars to show! And we only got up to the chapter on hugging and holding hands! No way in hell am I going to take that chance, not with 'Leadership, A History'."

And now think, think very VERY hard why her getting her hands on this book would be a bad idea.

Last but not least, a semi-related Omake by me.

Hedwig Sets Things Right

"Here you go, girl." Harry handed his owl a large leather sack. "One hundred Galleons to buy as many owl treats or as much bacon or anything you want."

"Preck," Hedwig cheered.

"I still say it's stupid to give Galleons to an owl." Ron sulked, he could do a lot with that money.

"Well I say it's sweet," Hermione retorted.

"Preck," Hedwig called out as she left the owlery.

IIIIIIIIII

"Preck."

"What's that?" The disreputable looking man asked.

"Preck preck."

"A gun, what kind?"

"Preck."

"Yeah, I can get you one of those." The black marketeer agreed.

"Preck?"

"Yep, just like Dirty Harry. Come back in a couple days."

"Preck preck?"

"Yeah, course I take Galleons. Be fifty for the pistol and another ten for a case of ammo."

"Preck."

"Pleasure doing business with you too."

IIIIIIIIII

Vernon stared nervously at the massive magnum cradled in the unstable avian's talons. "Look here," he stammered, "no one wants to get hurt, eh?"

"Prick," Hedwig barked. The muzzle of her pistol as unwavering as her stare. "Preck, preck, prick."

"What?" Vernon growled. "Listen here you sodding bird, I'll have you . . ."

The massive revolver roared and Vernon suddenly found himself with one less working knee then he'd had a moment before.

Hedwig hopped off her perch and glided down to silence the screaming walrus with a through pistol whipping.

"Vernon," Petunia gasped.

"Prek?" Hedwig enquired. The muzzle of her pistol swept over to cover the other two Dursleys. "Prek, prek?"

"Fine," Petunia agreed. "The boy doesn't have to work, but we're not going to give him a thousand pounds a week to . . ."

"Prek," Hedwig interrupted. She pointed the revolver at Vernon's good knee. "Preck."

"How about five hundred pounds and twenty pounds of bacon," Petunia suggested.

"Preck." Hedwig cocked the hammer. "Prek, preck, prek."

"Fine," Petunia agreed desperately, "you win."

"Prek," Hedwig agreed smugly. "Preck, prek, pricks." Who needed to buy bacon when you could buy a gun instead and use that to get all the bacon you could ask for, for free.


End file.
